


Anniversary

by Auggusst



Series: The Soldier And The Scientist [30]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anniversaries, Bad Anniversary, Civil War, Depression, Drinking, Heartbreak, M/M, Post Civil War, Regrets, Sadness, Supportive Pepper, Text Messages, missing each other, supportive Natasha, the burner phones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 09:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auggusst/pseuds/Auggusst
Summary: Steve and Tony's third anniversary is spent in separation, isolation, and pain, thanks to the Accords, and the monumental mistakes they made almost a year ago. They can't help but hope for better times, finding solace in the support of their loved ones.





	Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having a terrible time! So I'm taking it out on you poor readers. I'm sorry. But not. Maybe a little sorry. I'm not really a fan of angst but I have no other way to channel my emotions right now.

“It will get easier, Steve,” Natasha said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Steve was inclined to disagree. He couldn’t even manage to look at her. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on his boots, shuffled them against the grated floor of their aircraft, listened to the rumbling of the engine. He sniffled, brushed a forearm over his nose. The material of his suit was scratchy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “I…I don’t know, Nat,” he muttered, voice low. How could it get easier?

It had been almost a year since the falling out. He had held himself together as well as could be expected, diving into work with his team, snuffing out any remaining Hydra agents and low-tier villains who sought their chance to join the big leagues. There was little down time, which he was thankful for. No time to rest meant no time to think, and no time to dwell on his monumental failures and his depression. The constant travel and tour around the world sort of reminded him of the War, of long marches and never-ending fatigue, but single-minded determination. It made him think of the Howling Commandos, and of Bucky.

He wished he could go visit him, or that he was here. He’d received some encrypted emails here and there, updating him on his friend’s recovery, but it wasn’t like visiting. Part of Steve wanted to go to Wakanda, to stay there and to disappear, but the world needed him, especially since the Accords limited Avenger work. He wanted to be near his friend, to know that he was happy, to find some satisfaction out of everything that happened. If Bucky was content, then maybe all of the pain was worth it. Bucky seemed to be responding well to his therapy, didn’t have any recent relapses, which was the biggest comfort out of all of this, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to be happy. At least, not today.

Sometimes it was hard to keep track of the days, when they were on a stealth mission or outrunning the authorities, but today, as he inspected the little flip phone he carried in emergencies, desperately hoping for a response to the text he sent three days ago, he couldn’t help but notice the date. It was their anniversary. It would’ve been their third year today. Or maybe it still was? Steve wasn’t sure of anything really. Tony didn’t actually say that they were over, but…Steve assumed so, given their parting, and the severe lack of communication ever since.

Steve was in bad shape since that day. He knew how to keep himself together, how to focus on missions and make the necessary choices, but…his personal life had all but disintegrated, and so did his sense of self preservation. His tight haircut and clean-shaven look was long abandoned, in favor of a sloppy (but trimmed, in his defense!) beard, and his hair was longer than it had ever been. He just didn’t have the strength to care about himself. He did his best though, for his team.

Sometimes Sam got a laugh out of him, made him feel okay, but most of the time, the blond was miserable, and everyone knew it. He did his best not to let on, but Steve wasn’t exactly subtle. He was often irritable, stressed, and lacked the patience he usually had. He took out his frustration on the bad guys, hit a little harder than he needed to, wasn’t as keen on giving second chances. More often than not, he spent downtime in solitude, until Natasha had enough and pulled him out of his moping spells. She was trying to do so now, but would have little success. He couldn’t be happy. Not today.

“Steve, I can’t stand to see you like this. I don’t know how to help you,” the redhead said. That was true.

Natasha had more than enough experience with grief, but her training just suppressed it all. She wasn’t sure how to console him. It had been almost a year, and Steve was still torn up about what happened. He tried to hide it, but more than once she had caught him crying to himself, or staring into space for hours. She didn’t know how to set things right. The Accords were still a problem too. They were fugitives, and as far as she saw, that title wasn’t going to be revoked any time soon. There was no guarantee that a meeting could be held between Steve and Tony without Secretary Ross finding out either. Even if they did meet, would it resolve anything? Steve never mentioned it, but Nat had seen him eyeing the phone, almost constantly. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. Either Tony didn’t want to reconcile, or he was too afraid to. She couldn’t really blame him. She couldn’t blame either of them. She wished the solution was more obvious.

“There’s no way to help this,” Steve replied dejectedly. He leaned back against his seat, fixed his eyes forward. He could see Sam up in the cockpit, no doubt trying to mind his own business. Steve always appreciated his understanding of privacy. “I just… have to move on,” Steve sighed. He scratched absently at his beard.

Moving on was easier said than done. Steve had always struggled with it. He struggled with the death of his parents. He struggled with losing Bucky. He struggled with losing Peggy. And now, he struggled with losing Tony. It took all of his self control to not turn around and fly back to New York the day after Siberia. He knew the consequences of doing so, but didn’t care. Tony was worth the risk. He couldn’t leave things the way they were. But Steve had a responsibility to his team. It was up to him to protect them, to keep them safe, after what they had risked to stick by his side. There wasn’t a way to go home. There wasn’t a way to get back to Tony. So, Steve had no choice to settle, and found himself buying two little flip phones from a local electronics store.

Buying the phones was a lot easier than writing the accompanying letter. In the end, he still wasn’t satisfied with it, but it was better than nothing. He allowed himself to feel the smallest amount of optimism as he sent the package. They had survived a lot. They could survive this too. But apparently, Tony didn’t feel the same. He didn’t expect it to be fast, but a year without communication? It had been so long, and they were no closer to reconciliation. His desperation only grew with each month.

Steve pulled out the little phone now, despite Natasha sitting at his side, and she eyed him sympathetically. He flipped it up, navigated to the message log. He scrolled through countless messages, each reading ‘Delivered,’ and each without a response. There were so many. Some were long, some were short. Some he wrote late at night, lying awake, and others he wrote after tough missions, out of a need to keep him updated, if he even cared about Steve’s safety anymore. He wasn’t sure. Looking through the messages, Steve’s heart only sank.

“He won’t… I just… I don’t understand,” the blond admitted, feeling his throat tighten with emotion. “I thought at least today…I mean… It’s uh—It’s our anniversary,” the soldier said softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He discreetly rubbed at the tears that were forming in his eyes, let out a shaky exhale.

“Just give it time, Steve,” she replied, gently rubbing his arm. “Time zones are a thing, after all. Maybe he’s not up yet.” She knew almost with certainty that sleeping in late wasn’t the reason Tony hadn’t texted, but the alternative was being brutally honest, and she wasn’t sure the blond could handle it right now. Steve rarely cried in someone else’s presence. The fact that he was doing so now spoke of how bad it was for him. It was tough, seeing him like that. He had helped her countless times, on the field and off, and it bothered her that she couldn’t help him in return. Natasha didn’t believe in any sort of god, but she would pray to one if it meant that all of their problems would disappear.

“Yeah,” Steve said, voice monotone. “I’m sure that’s it.” But he knew better. He knew that Tony probably hated him, would probably never want to speak to him again. After all, why should he? Steve had hurt him, so bad. Maybe he didn’t deserve to speak to Tony, didn’t deserve to work things out with him. But knowing and feeling are two different things, and although Steve knew logically that things were…over, his heart wouldn’t accept it.

He _yearned_. He ached with the loneliness. He just wanted to _hear_ Tony, to see him, even from a distance. He missed his smile, his laugh, the way he would scrunch up his nose and squint his eyes when he saw something he didn’t like. His memories weren’t enough. They were more of a hindrance than anything, as the most vivid memory was their last. He’d never seen Tony look at him with so much pain, so much hatred. His eyes were dark and cold in Siberia. Any ounce of affection he held for the blond was absent in those moments, replaced with betrayal and disgust. Thinking about it made Steve’s stomach sink, even almost a year later. The guilt was overwhelming, and the scene replayed itself over and over in his dreams. But even being in Siberia was better than what he had now. At least in Siberia, he had Tony.

Steve was at a loss for words, and actions. Moving on was the smart thing to do. It was what a stronger person would do. But when it came to Tony, Steve wasn’t strong. He was weak for him, and always would be. His hand tightened around the phone, and he held it to his chest, wishing he could pull his heart out. When Steve couldn’t hold back his tears anymore, Natasha pulled him close, hugged him while he cried. Here he was, spending what could have been a beautiful day with the man he loved crying in the arms of his teammate on a flight to Croatia, his heart splitting in two.

 _Some anniversary_ , Steve thought bitterly, knowing he had no one to blame but himself.

 

* * *

 

 

“Some anniversary,” Tony muttered, staring into the mirror above the vanity in his bathroom. He looked, and felt like shit. His eyes were dark, and he certainly needed a shave. He didn’t need to leave the compound in the last 8 days, and the deterioration of his appearance was evidence of that. He hadn’t slept well this last week though, and made the mistake of turning to alcohol in his desperation. Tony’s drinking was never bad enough to warrant the title of ‘addiction,’ but it came dangerously close in his youth. As such, he couldn’t quite call his behavior a relapse, but it was close enough the last few days. He drank to forget, or drank to feel, or _not_ to feel. He wasn’t sure. The catalyst was easily identifiable, though.

He knew, of course, what today was. It was impossible not to. Every device, every screen, every email and threatening voice mail and call marked the date. Today was supposed to be happy, and romantic, and would maybe turn a little sexy, but instead, Tony was nursing a massive hangover, about two minutes from throwing up _again_ , and feeling like a knife was carving at his heart. He was surprised there was any of it left. It had been almost a year since he’d seen Steve. He remembered their last anniversary, how happy they were. He doubted he would ever feel that happiness again.

He turned on the tap and rinsed his face. His skin was hot, and his eyes burned a bit. He would have felt embarrassed at his state, if the person standing in the doorway was anyone other than Pepper, having arrived a few minutes ago. She’d seen him worse than this over the years.

“You overdid it,” she commented, taking off her jacket and throwing it over her arm. He didn’t bother keeping her waiting at the front entrance, and instead gave FRIDAY the go ahead to let her in. He wasn’t sure he could walk there anyway. His legs were shaky and he was a little dizzy. It was around noon now, the clock had said. He had texted her on a whim the night before, or that morning, he supposed, since it was 3am when he did it. He couldn’t even remember what he had said. It was enough to make her visit obviously, which he appreciated.

Tony shrugged, shoved his face in a towel to dry it. “I guess.” His voice was muffled.

“It never makes you feel better. I don’t know why you do it,” Pepper sighed, stepping in to the bathroom. Her heels clacked on the tiled floor. She looked him over, then tugged the towel from his hands, and set it on the counter. He looked at her for a moment, feeling shame creep up, alongside a lump in his throat.

“It’s…today is…” he couldn’t get the words out. But Pepper knew. She always knew what he wanted to say, and she had heard his muttering. That’s why he liked her so much. She could read his mind, understood what he tried to say, even if she didn’t always agree with it. She put a hand on his shoulder, gestured to the bedroom. Her eyes were filled with pity. He’d seen that look in her eyes too many times over the years. It made him feel small, made him feel guilty, as if he wasn’t guilty enough.

“Go sit down, Tony. I’ll get you some water,” she said gently, and he complied without a fuss.

While she left the room to find him some sustenance, he crawled onto the bed, and uprooted the pillows, fingers clenching around a small, gray flip phone. How many times had he sat here like this? How many times had he opened and closed the little outdated device, and how many times had he read the messages that were stacking up like paper, without being able to come up with a response? He read them, over and over, tried to figure out what to say. It would be easy, realistically. A simple ‘Hi’ or ‘Hey’ could get the ball rolling, but Tony was never able to type those two or three simple letters. He was never able to push the ‘send’ button. He hated himself for it.

He loved Steve. He did. He always would, and would always want him, so why was it _so hard_ to reach out? He read the messages again and again, took in their warmth, their desperation. He imagined Steve speaking the words, thought of his warm and familiar voice as he read each text. They only made him feel worse. He was a coward. He had never been good at communication, was never able to handle emotional problems with any semblance of normalcy. He had the same issue when he was dating Pepper. He would have liked to blame his upbringing, but it was his own fault. His fingers tightened around the phone, and his eyes swam with tears.

Thankfully, Pepper reappeared, and held out a glass of water to him. She had a few painkillers in the other hand. She looked around the room, and wasn’t particularly happy with it. The evidence of Tony’s spiral was all around: empty bottles, laundry in a pile on the floor, and little signs of food. She wondered briefly if he had been feeding himself this week or not. She doubted it, and instead, spotted a notepad with armor designs on it. Naturally he had returned to his obsession.

Tony was never good at facing his problems. He accepted any distraction possible, especially a valuable one (in Tony’s eyes) such as designing suits. She still thought he was paranoid. He was more than that, honestly. He was obsessive, incredibly so, and always insisted on preparing for ‘What was to come.’ That, and his attraction to Steve, were the main reasons they had split up. Pepper always tried to get him to see sense, but it was to no avail. It didn’t help that he was alone most of the time. Rhodey was out on missions, and the android Vision only came around every two weeks apparently, so that left Tony by himself. Pepper appeared when she could, but…she had a company to run, and her own life to live. She cared about her friend and former lover dearly and always would, but he had problems she couldn’t fix. She could try, though, as she was doing now, making sure he was hydrated and medicated.

“Thanks,” Tony sighed, wiping his tears and setting down the little flip phone in his grasp. He took the glass from her well-manicured hands, downed the medication without hesitation. As he put the glass on the nightstand, she sat down beside him, and he looked down at his empty hands, feeling sheepish. Pepper reached for the flip phone between them, and he flinched instinctively (he didn’t like anyone else holding it) and she drew back. The woman sighed.

“Tony… it’s been a year,” she started softly, eyes sweeping over him, “And you’re just as bad as when you came back. Don’t you think that it’s…time…either to let go, or to do something? You carry that thing around. You stare at it constantly. You know I love you, but…you have to make a choice, for your health.”

Considering his health was never at the forefront of Tony’s mind, but he understood her concern. But how could he explain to her how he felt? How could he put the misery into words, the feeling of being torn six different ways, of hoping and praying and despairing, and changing his mind over and over again? And the _fear._ The fear was the worst. How could he ever look Steve in the eyes again, after what he said, after what he did? How could he reconcile with someone who betrayed him so viscerally, and who he had betrayed in return? He was a coward. He simply was. Steve deserved better than that. Steve had always deserved better than Tony.

Tony should’ve just broken it off completely, should’ve plucked up the courage to send a final goodbye, but he couldn’t. He was too weak for that. He was weak and selfish, and always had been, and so he clung to a ‘maybe.’ Maybe things would change. Maybe fate would bring them together again, or maybe the texts would stop and eventually he could move on. Maybe he would feel Steve’s lips against his, hear him whisper his name lovingly again, or maybe the blond would curse him and deliver the killing blow he had abstained from a year ago.

Maybe one day Tony could say goodbye, or say hello again. But that day was not today, and he knew it. Today was a day of misery, and he wondered if that misery was shared. He wondered if Steve was out there, if he knew what day it was, if he wished he was home and things were like they used to be. He wondered if they would ever cross paths again, and if they did, could they ever put the pieces back together? He wanted to, so bad, but he didn’t know if he could.

Tony was afraid of finding out, and had been for a year, so he spent his third anniversary crying into Pepper’s shoulder, fighting the urge to down another bottle of alcohol. He was afraid of facing the inevitable, and would continue to ignore it, instead of replying to the text message that buzzed between them on the bed, louder than it should have been. When Tony read it, he couldn’t help but let out a pained laugh.

It read in cold, unfeeling letters, that still managed to capture Steve’s essence: ‘Happy Anniversary.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment with your thoughts.


End file.
